


Geode

by Kemmasandi



Series: Hoist The Colours [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Feudal AU, Mechpreg, Other, Sticky Sex, a little bitty bit of it, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 04:44:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1065910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kemmasandi/pseuds/Kemmasandi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Far underground, Megatron pays a visit to his mate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Geode

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eiseedoesit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eiseedoesit/gifts).



> **Title:**  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Universe:** Hard AU  
>  **Pairings/Characters:** Megatron/Optimus  
>  **Warnings:** Sticky smut, mechpreg, dubcon [sort of; to be elaborated upon in the expanded version, _Hoist The Colours_ ]
> 
> I first wrote this a few months ago, having had a huuuuge bunny late at night and needing to get something down on paper before I could go to sleep. The next day I showed it to my friends, who clamoured for more. Given the size of that bunny, I was only too happy to give it to them. :D
> 
> That 'more' is still being written; I hope to get it up and posted by Christmas. Originally this fic was incorporated into it, but I did some thinking and figured that it didn't really flow with the rest very well. Hence being posted now >:D
> 
> Sort of AU to Hoist The Colours at large, this is just the idea that spawned it.

* * *

_looking out on midnight_  
gotta do it this time  
slowing down the movement  
it's in your own time  


* * *

 GEODE

Megatron had to duck to reach the depths of Optimus’ nest through the electrum-thread flags that festooned the small chamber. The air reeked of precious metals, gold and palladium and copper, and the heady musk of Cybertronium underneath it. Pale light gleamed from blue torches against the smooth swathes of polished metal, splitting the darkness. Tradition kept the chamber decked out in the colours of the Kaoni warlord, and through the hanging flags he could already see the optics of his new mate, fixed attentively on his approach.

Tradition meant strength. Tradition was what kept them all alive.

Tradition, indeed, kept Megatron’s young mate cooped up in this secret chamber below the Kolkular warren. An endless war might rage outside, but it was safe in here. Optimus had entered it on the day his Sire had given him to Megatron, a defeated rival offering up his own son as a sacrifice. He would not leave it until he had given birth to Megatron’s heir.

Optimus was the eldest of Iacon’s whelps – he should have been a warlord in his own right, leading his clan at Megatron’s side. Instead he was here, deep under Kolkular, wearing the sigils that marked him as the Warlord’s mate, his once-slim abdomen swollen with the mass of a sparkling. His first. Megatron’s first.

He watched Megatron approach with a resigned look in his optics, half-closed and glowing only faintly. He shifted in the nest of fabrics generations of warlords’ mates had kept confinement in, setting a much-read datapad to the side and arranging himself more comfortably on his back.

He did look good like that, somehow graceful and strong despite the soft swell of his abdominal plating. Megatron spared a moment to appreciate the neat lines of his legs and chassis, spike attempting to pressurise behind its cover. Iacon always had produced beautiful mechs.

But Optimus had a warrior’s build beneath the beauty; long-limbed, broad-shouldered, with weight to match any Kaoni warbuild and strong legs that spoke of speed and agility. Once, Megatron might have delighted in facing a mech like him on the battlefield.

This? This was wrong.

But he’d been honor-bound to accept him. Optimus had not protested – and that in itself was near-unthinkable; what prince would willingly let himself be bargained away as mere chattel? – nor had he, in the short lunar cycles he’d been Megatron’s, been heard to complain. Nothing Megatron could use to break the agreement with the self-satisfied Iaconian warlord and put Optimus in his place – and now, it was too late.

Megatron knelt over Optimus, servos gently caressing his mate’s distended belly. He did not waste time on words – the arrangement did not need them. Once Optimus delivered the sparkling, they would be free to talk.

Now, all that was needed was to nurture the evidence of their consummation – the heir born of their union, which would one day rule Kaon and the lands for leagues around.

Optimus spread his legs, accommodating in this as he was in all things. Megatron pressed himself between them, his array panel sliding back, his spike jutting out between them, hard and ready. He cupped his hands around the curve of Optimus’ hips and slid them down the young mech’s legs, hauling them up at the knees, spreading him open. Optimus’ panel snicked back, baring his valve.

Megatron’s flight engine juddered, and he leant down further over Optimus, his servo groping between them for the entrance of his valve. He found it through pure memory, his claws slicking on the barest trickle of lubricant. He had had to work hard to arouse Optimus enough to claim him their first time; Optimus may have been willing to bargain himself away in the first place, but he had been all but a virgin and the first shudders Megatron had wrung from him had been tinged with fear. Now, though, with their child’s need guiding his systems, preparing him was easy enough. Megatron buried two fingers to the knuckle in him, scissored them and carefully thrust, and Optimus gasped, his body clenching around them, hot fluids rushing from him in anticipation of being taken and filled.

Megatron added a third finger, watching as Optimus’ face slackened, a moan of unbridled pleasure slipping from his lips. His optics narrowed but their glow intensified, his field snapping with quick arousal. He met Megatron’s gaze with confidence – and, for the first time, Megatron recognised a shadow of desire in them.

“Ah,” Optimus breathed, and his lips curved into a smile as he rode the forceful thrust of Megatron’s digits. “I keep meaning to thank you, you know.”

Megatron frowned, the motion of his servo stilling. Optimus’ valve rippled around him, heated and suddenly soaking. That was probably enough. “There is no need to,” he replied, pulling out. He wrapped his lubricant-smeared digits around his spike and stroked it from base to head, coating it with Optimus’ fluids, guiding it to the heated, sparking valve.

“I wanted to do so anyway,” Optimus said, and rocked his hips, the very tip of Megatron’s spike just beginning to push into him. “You do what you can for me. I had no cause to expect it, but you do it anyway.”

Megatron shook his helm, wordless, and thrust deep.

Optimus gasped, deep groans torn from his vocalizer as Megatron set a steady pace, the electrum-cloth colours rustling around them in time with the rhythmic thump of their pelvic frames against one another. Megatron’s engine rumbled, an infrasonic growl of deep, abiding pleasure as he was taken deep, Optimus’ frame so open and inviting, valve rippling around his spike as it tried to draw him deeper still.

Neither of them were going to last long. Megatron picked up the pace, his movements turning erratic. Optimus arched underneath him, crying out. The sound echoed in the chamber, bouncing off rhodium-filigreed walls and earthing in their frames. Megatron shuddered, pressing his face into the curve between Optimus’ neck and shoulder and worrying the sensitive cables there with well-placed nips and kisses – marking Optimus, claiming him again.

This one – he was worthy of keeping.

Optimus went stiff beneath him, gasping out little deep moans, ventilations skipping as his valve pulsed and flooded with electricity. Megatron roared, forcing himself to keep moving even as his own array reacted, tripping into overload not a nanoklik later. His spike systems surged, transfluid spurting into Optimus, the overload charge whiting out his optics for a moment and leaving trails of glowing light across his field of vision. He managed to keep himself from collapsing across Optimus when it was done, but it was a close-run thing.

Optimus caught his gaze again, tired, distant once more. The strange flash of connection had run its course.

Megatron pulled his spike free, a gush of mixed lubricant and transfluid slipping out after it. He knelt, and swept a cursory hand over his own equipment, removing the worst of the mess (or so he hoped). Optimus’ assistants were waiting at the chamber door to clean and detail him once their lord was gone – but Megatron himself had a fairly long walk ahead of him before he would arrive back in his quarters.

He rose, and left in silence, deliberately not looking back. He couldn’t allow himself to become attached – not until the sparkling emerged, and he had his heir safe in his arms.

Tradition demanded it.


End file.
